End of the Road
by Wilusa
Summary: Speculation about what might have been in store for Tomas Delgado, by a fan who likes the character. This was of course rendered AU, as I'd known it would be, a few days after it was posted.
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: One Life to Live is the property of ABC; no copyright infringement is intended.

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Malcolm Baker said, "You're sure, Mr. Manning? This is what you really want?" After a minute or so, he said, "Okay, okay. Doesn't matter to me, one way or the other. You're the boss."

He closed his cell phone and glowered at his bound captive. "We're taking another little trip, Delgado."

_Probably not-so-little, if it's like the others_, Tomas Delgado thought wearily. Todd Manning's henchmen had been moving him every few days, taking overly elaborate precautions against being tracked by...someone. Apparently John McBain.

Tomas was grateful for McBain's having given them cause to think he was on to them. But he didn't seriously expect help from that quarter. By now he had no idea what country he was in.

Remembering those long stretches on planes - during which he'd been bound, gagged, and blindfolded - he realized he couldn't even be sure of the continent.

He didn't know how this was going to end. But he'd almost stopped caring. _I brought it on myself, when I spared Todd's life all those years ago..._

He'd believed, at the time, that his unit was still part of the CIA. That he was serving his country. And yes, the CIA did sometimes have to order assassinations. The agents who carried them out viewed them as comparable to killings in war. _Except that soldiers never had to worry about reprisals against their families. We did have to think of that, and I'd made the sacrifice of cutting my ties with everyone I loved._

He'd been shocked when he was ordered to kill a fellow American. He'd taken it to mean that Todd Manning was a traitor, conspiring with enemies of the U.S. In fact, Manning had refused to aid The Director's rogue outfit in an enterprise he'd recognized as criminal. But Tomas had no way of knowing that.

He'd found Manning in bad shape, beaten and left for dead. He'd guessed Manning had somehow crossed the terrorists or would-be terrorists he'd been dealing with. And he'd thought that if the CIA showed mercy and nursed him back to health, he might be won over to their side. Which was, after all, his own country's side! So he'd risked rebuke - or worse - by going against his orders and delivering Manning, alive, to his superiors.

He hadn't known Manning was The Director's son; he'd never heard her name. And he couldn't have imagined, in his worst nightmares, that she'd have her son held prisoner and tortured for eight years.

But now, Todd had become a psychopath as beyond redemption as his mother. He'd proved it when he consigned Tomas to this living hell, and had Baker force him to tell Blair _he_ - not Todd - had killed Todd's brother Victor.

Yes, Tomas had planned to have Victor abducted, if he couldn't persuade him to leave Llanview on his own. But that was only because he knew Victor had been brainwashed, and feared that made him a threat to Tea. _I wouldn't have let anyone mistreat him. I would have turned to the contacts I still have in the CIA - found ways to learn how bad the brainwashing was, maybe counteract it. No way would I have harmed the man my sister loved!_

Todd, on the other hand, had gunned his twin down in cold blood.

Tomas no longer cared what happened to _him_. But whenever he thought of Todd bedding the woman _he_ loved - _Blair_ - he wanted to puke.

Every so often he made a ruckus, tried furiously to get free. But he was always beaten into submission.

_I wonder if Todd could keep this up if he was actually here, seeing what they're doing to me? Villainy from a distance, clean hands...maybe he __**will**__ let it go on till I'm old and gray._

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This trip didn't involve planes. Nevertheless, Tomas gave up trying to estimate its length after what he guessed was ten hours.

He'd been bound hand and foot, gagged, and blindfolded the whole time.

He thought the vehicle Baker was driving was an SUV. Listening for and counting voices, he'd determined there were three other men in it. Taking turns behind the wheel, probably meaning to get all the sleep they needed in the car. Easy for them; _they_ weren't physically uncomfortable. Their conversation - what little there was - told him nothing.

They got out now and then to relieve themselves, and to buy food and drink - which they consumed, noisily, in the car. None for him, of course.

They had to know the aromas, and the loud munching and guzzling, were driving him nuts.

Now he tried to let the goons know _he_ had certain...physical needs.

They ignored him.

With the predictable consequences.

It didn't matter. He wished he could sleep - or simply pass out. But the constant jostling over bumpy roads, and his restraints, made that impossible.

So he tried to think about Blair.

_Blair..._

He'd first seen her in that wedding photo of her and Todd. He hadn't bought it in a flea market. He'd taken it from Todd's wallet when he found him, barely alive, in a cemetery crypt. He had no guilt feelings about that: Todd had been so battered that he'd needed to examine the contents of the wallet to confirm his identity. His artist's eye had been captivated by the radiance of Todd's bride. And he'd known that recent marriage - not the couple's first - had already ended in divorce. He'd felt sure Todd had deceived or betrayed the trusting woman. And by so doing, he had - as Tomas saw it - forfeited all his rights where she was concerned.

In those days, Tomas hadn't dared have a real, flesh-and-blood lover in his life. The risk to her would have been too great. So, like a fool, he'd fallen half in love with the woman in the photo. Painted her portrait, and mooned over that. _Like the guy in the movie __**Laura**__, who falls in love with a portrait of a woman who's supposedly dead, but turns out to be alive._

Of course, he'd always known Blair Cramer-sometimes-Manning was alive.

_I hope that bastard Todd can be trusted to keep her that way. Has he ever really appreciated her?_

He'd eventually thought _This way lies madness_, so he'd sold the portrait. He'd regretted the sale a day later, mourned its loss. Tried unsuccessfully to get it back.

And then, incredibly, the real woman had knocked on his door...

He'd been in love with her ever since. And he _knew_ that mysterious chemistry between them had worked both ways.

_But now she thinks I killed Victor. Even if I can get away from these animals, I may have lost her forever. To the real killer! Why the hell would she believe __**me**__ over a man she's known for decades, the father of her children?_

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His head ached.

_I have to stop thinking about Blair and Todd._

But if he didn't think about them, he couldn't help thinking about Tea and Victor.

When he'd been assigned to kill Todd Manning, he hadn't known his adored little sister was Todd's ex-wife. The break he'd made with his family was that complete.

Later, he'd learned who and what The Director really was: Irene Manning, an international criminal. A source of worry to the CIA, because she was using techniques - methods of brainwashing, and of outright torture - that she'd learned from them. They didn't dare take her down. She'd convinced them she had proof of their past misdeeds, and her accomplices would go public with it if she was imprisoned or harmed.

Knowing that, Tomas had found it alarming that "Todd Manning" was back in Llanview, sporting a new face - and, it seemed, covertly working with Irene. Tomas wasn't sure whether this "Todd" was an impostor, or the man he'd delivered to her, thoroughly brainwashed. But he inclined to the latter explanation. The plastic-surgery makeover made sense, in the twisted reality they inhabited. The enemy who'd had Todd beaten almost to death was an egomaniacal preacher named Mitch Laurence, and Todd had made himself a double for Laurence's brother, so he could get close to Laurence and take his revenge. Tomas could believe that. So, given the extreme riskiness of Irene's using an impostor who wouldn't have Todd Manning's DNA, he'd guessed this was the brainwashed original.

He'd been horrified when he came to the U.S. to "drop in" on Blair - and found his sister Tea married to "Todd"!

He'd still thought - though he couldn't be sure - that the man was the brainwashed original rather than an impostor. But either way, the people close to him were in danger.

When Tomas had thrown an already-disrupted movie premiere into total chaos by proclaiming "That man is not Todd Manning!", what he'd meant was that the man had been so altered by brainwashing that he was no longer his true self. No longer the person he'd once been, and his loved ones thought he still was.

Tomas had been the most surprised person in the theater when, in response to his saying "That man is not Todd Manning!", _another_ man had stepped out of the shadows and said, _"I am."_

After that, everything had gone downhill.

Tea had continued to love the man everyone began calling "Victor."

Tomas had made no secret of his disapproval.

And now Victor was dead, his far-worse brother lording it over Llanview. Claiming Victor's fortune, his children, everything but his wife.

_Does Tea believe the confession they forced me to make? If John McBain was really suspicious, is there a chance he passed his suspicions on to her?_

_I may never see any of the people I knew in Llanview again. And if I don't..._

_If I don't..._

_For however long Todd keeps me alive, the __**worst**__ torment will be thinking of Blair and Tea hating me. Believing I killed Victor, then went on to deceive them for months, and finally just __**ran away.**_

He realized he was crying. At least he was managing to do it quietly.

But crying behind a blindfold was damned uncomfortable.

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He'd been tied up so long he could no longer feel his hands and feet.

Perhaps that was a good thing. Every other part of his body ached like hell.

_Don't think about Blair. Don't think about Tea._

But then, of course, he thought about _another_ person he might never see again. The one who'd now be convinced his worst suspicions had been on the mark.

Baz.

The reason Tomas hadn't requested DNA testing, when Yvette presented him with that "sudden son," was that he'd known for a fact Baz _couldn't_ be his. He hadn't had sex with Yvette, with or without protection, during the time period when the child could have been conceived. Even allowing for premature birth, or its opposite.

Yvette had known that. She'd just wanted to get the troublesome teen off her hands. She'd figured Tomas's life was no longer danger-ridden. _(Hah. Was she ever wrong about that!)_ And she'd known he wouldn't hurt Baz by making an issue of it. Not much was being asked of him, anyway.

_Maybe, given time, we could have bonded through our love of music. Our tastes - and talents - were so different that at first, neither of us could accept that the other was a musician. But we were making progress._

_Till he began thinking I was a murderer..._

Baz had been old enough that legally, he could come and go as he chose. To Tomas's regret, he'd flown the coop after getting Starr entangled in a bad recording contract. Starr, unlike Baz, couldn't just drop out of sight; she had a child to raise, a boyfriend, and an extended family that she cared about.

_If I hadn't been caught up in investigating Victor's murder...if I'd had time to be more of a mentor, even if not a real "father"...I could have prevented that mess. Baz was a naive kid. Both he and Starr deserved better. Deserved the guidance I should have been giving them._

_**Damn Todd Manning!**_

Now he began to regret he'd thought of music.

_What if Todd tells his goons, at some point, to smash my fingers? So I'll never be able to play the piano again? Never be able to paint again?_

_Even if he doesn't think of that, will I ever __**see**__ a piano again? Or an artist's canvas?_

_Will I ever see __**anything**__ again?_

He'd been blindfolded so long he wasn't sure he could still distinguish - as he could at first - day from night.

_Don't panic. Don't!_

_Maybe I should go back to thinking about Blair..._

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He was desperately hungry - and above all, thirsty.

_Think about Blair think about Blair think about Blair..._

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He felt nauseous. And he was sweating profusely, though he couldn't understand where the moisture in his body was coming from.

He thought he was going to puke. _Knew _he was going to puke. And with a gag stuffed in his mouth, that meant he was going to choke.

But how could he puke, when there was nothing to come up? When he hadn't eaten for days?

_Do not moan. I command you, do not moan!_

_Think about Blair think about Blair think about Blair..._

_Blair Blair Blair Blair Blair Blair..._

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It was night.

Malcolm Baker's SUV came to a smooth stop, and he killed the headlights.

A few lights glimmered...somewhere. Otherwise, the car was in near-pitch darkness.

Baker and his three henchmen got out. Stretched. Lit cigarettes and relaxed.

Then they hauled their prisoner out of the back seat. Bound hand and foot, gagged, and - even now - blindfolded, he still struggled. Managed a two-footed kick that caught one of the men in the groin.

Not Baker.

Baker said calmly, "End of the road, Delgado."

They picked him up, hoisted him...and gave a mighty heave.

There was a sickening splash.


	2. Chapter 2

Tomas was stunned by the impact. But the cold water brought him out of it. Fast.

The "impact" had been caused by his striking, not the water, but _concrete_. He'd landed on his butt.

And even as he sat on the bottom of...whatever, the water barely came up to his waist. But he felt a light spray on his head, too. Was he near a waterfall? Just at the edge of it?

That wouldn't explain the concrete.

_What the hell is going on?_

He registered the sound of Baker's SUV roaring away.

_So they've really left me here, alone? Wherever "here" is?_

_They've...__**let me go?**_

Gradually, it sank in. They _really had_ let him go! He might be in the middle of nowhere. Might still be destined to die of exposure, be torn apart by wild animals, or meet with some other horrendous fate. But he didn't care. He was _**free!**_

Todd Manning had told Baker to _**free him?**_

He sat still for a few minutes, weeping, his whole body a-quiver.

Then he pulled himself together and tried to think.

He was cold, but not freezing. That meant nothing in particular. He thought it was January; but the last he knew, the entire U.S. had been experiencing unusually mild weather. The same might be true for Europe.

He heard no sounds around him. But that could mean, not that he was in the "middle of nowhere," but that it was late at night.

Could he be sitting in...a public fountain? That would jibe with everything he was experiencing. But public fountains weren't left on all night, were they?

Hell, maybe they were. Maybe he was sitting in the Trevi Fountain, in the heart of Rome!

He actually chuckled at that thought.

_Okay. Before I can do any sightseeing, I have to get out of the freaking fountain!_

First, get his hands free...

They were, of course, tied behind his back.

Numb as they were, the water helped loosen the bonds, and he accomplished that task in what he guessed to be five minutes.

_**Yes!**_

He ripped off the blindfold, got the hated gag out of his mouth, and looked around.

Unless his eyesight was failing, it was indeed night. He couldn't see much...

_No, not the Trevi Fountain. Rome wouldn't be this dark._

But it was _some_ fountain, as he'd guessed. Busily spouting water, whatever the hour.

_Water! _He maneuvered himself under more of the miniature "waterfall." Turned his face up and let the blessed water run over it. Drank, greedily, from his cupped hands.

He wanted to stay there, drink more and more...

_No. It **is** January! I have to get to shelter. Especially now that I'm soaking wet._

He got his feet free, tried to stand up. And sat down again, hard.

So he crawled out of the fountain, and settled himself on...more concrete. A sidewalk. Got his shoes and socks off, and set about rubbing life back into his feet.

He _was_ getting uncomfortably cold...

As he was absorbed with his feet, his eyes were gradually adjusting to the light (such as it was - mostly provided by the moon).

When he looked up again, he gasped.

He knew where he was.

In Angel Square!

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After he'd recovered from that shock, he began to think more clearly.

_Obviously, Todd told them to bring me back to Llanview. Can't imagine why, but he did._

_The fountain shouldn't be turned on in the middle of the night. So he __**arranged**__ for it to be on. With his money, he can pull off almost anything. Having me tossed in the fountain was his weird idea of humor. Guess he realized I'd need a bath at this point!_

_I wonder how much of what was done to me on that trip back was his choice, how much Baker's?_

He wondered, too, why so few of the nearby streetlights were working.

But then he remembered it was January. He'd been told that drunken New Year's Eve revelers always tore up Llanview's downtown; smashing streetlights topped their list of fun activities. And in this less-than-affluent part of town, it wasn't surprising that the lights still hadn't been repaired.

He found it unnerving that Todd had been willing to have him return to Llanview. But he could worry about that later. Right now, he had to find shelter for what was left of the night.

He got his wet socks and shoes back on his feet - better than nothing - and found that he could walk, if somewhat unsteadily.

_Shelter for the night?_

He headed for the most obvious possibility.

The Angel Square Hotel.

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Belatedly, he remembered that the place he was aiming for was a mostly residential hotel. Would it even be open at this hour - door unlocked, someone on duty at the desk? Or would it only be accessible to tenants with keys?

He got his answer quickly: it was open. And there was indeed a clerk, dozing, at the desk. An employee, of course, not owner Roxanne Balsom. Even during the day she spent most of her time attending to her other business, a hair salon.

The desk clerk came to life when he heard someone approaching.

_Heard? Nah, he probably __**smelled**__ me._

The clerk looked at the wet, bedraggled newcomer, and blurted out, "My God! What happened to you?"

Tomas hadn't thought about what he'd say. Gripping the desk for support, he tried to say _something_ - and what came out was a croak.

He tried again. "I, uh, got sort of drunk, and I fell in the fountain. I know it shouldn't be on this late, but for some reason it is. Go look, if you don't believe me."

_Of course, by the time he gets out there, Todd may have had it turned off._

But the desk clerk wasn't interested in looking at the fountain. He was looking more closely at _Tomas_.

"You're...you're Tomas Delgado! The guy who confessed to killing Victor Lord!"

"Yes." And suddenly, he knew what to say. "But I made that confession under duress. I _didn't_ kill him! And I think the Llanview police may know that. _John McBain_ may know that.

"I want to turn myself in. I want you to call the police! Will you do that, right now?"

"Yeah, sure!" The man looked relieved. "John McBain lives here, but he rushed out an hour or so ago. I'll call the station." He reached for the phone.

But at that moment, a tenant came racing down the stairs. He yelled to the desk clerk, "Gary! Turn your TV on! There's big local news breaking, right now!" He ran back - apparently to his own TV - without even noticing the soggy Tomas.

The desk clerk hesitated, then seemed to decide that the fugitive standing in front of him wasn't dangerous enough to take precedence over "big local news." He turned on the TV.

Tomas was glad he did. He wanted to hear what it was, too.

A frazzled-looking female reporter was saying, "The police haven't told us much, officially. But Blair Cramer has been talking hysterically, to anyone who'll listen!"

Tomas had to grab the desk again. _**"Blair Cramer?"**_

The reporter consulted her notes. "To recap: We're at La Boulaie, the home owned by Senator Dorian Cramer Lord and currently occupied by the Senator's niece, Blair Cramer, and her children.

"Ms. Cramer made a frantic call to 9-1-1 an hour ago. She's saying she and her ex-husband, Todd Manning, made love tonight. And then she fell asleep, expecting him to sleep in the bed with her all night."

Tomas winced. _This isn't decent. How the hell can this be "news"?_

He tried to convince himself that what angered him was the invasion of privacy, not the fact Blair had been sleeping with Todd. _These damn newshounds are taking advantage of her, when she's upset for some reason..._

"She woke up," the reporter continued, "and found him gone. She spotted a note he'd left on his pillow - turned a light on so she could read it.

"The 'note' was - I don't really understand this - a partially-burned scrap of paper that she somehow recognized. But she was looking closely at it for the first time. And the burned area didn't obscure what was written on it, in Todd Manning's handwriting. Two sentences: 'I killed Victor' and 'I framed Tomas.' "

Tomas's legs finally went out from under him. He sagged down on the floor. But he could still see the TV, still hear the reporter's voice.

"Ms. Cramer began frantically searching for Mr. Manning - and found him, in a cabana on the property.

"Found him dead. Todd Manning had hanged himself."

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Tomas got to his feet, strangely calm.

The desk clerk was staring at the TV, open-mouthed.

"Gary?" Tomas was glad he remembered the name. "Gary!"

"Uh, yeah?" The clerk turned slowly to look at him. "Oh! Yeah! That lets _you_ off the hook, right?"

"I guess it does. But now, will you make a phone call for me?"

"Sure. I remember, I was gonna do that. You still want the police?"

Tomas shook his head. "No. The police can wait. Screw the police!

"I _haven't_ reached the end of the road tonight...

"Call me a cab. I'm going to La Boulaie."

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The End


End file.
